Try Some Stuff You Don't Think You Should
by miamam
Summary: John is dumped, again. He's quite depressed because of it. Sherlock offers him to hang out together, and just think of something different. And so, after Greg gives him the advise of the day, John tries something he never has tried before.


**A/N **Another one for .com, the third challenge: Songfic. I've never written any songfic before, but I wanted to try :-P. Snippets of lyrics are from the song "Try Some Stuff You Don't Think You Should" by Charlie Straight. (Check them out, they're brilliant!)

clip to this song on YT (without space): www. youtube watch ?v=9bAOcB4ZbTg

**edit **20. 8.: A guest left a review where (s)he kindly advise me of reading this story out loud because of my awkward phrasing - I really am sorry you didn't leave a contact to you, because I'd love to look at that a bit closer; I'm not even slightly offended! You see, English is not my mother-language so reading out loud wouldn't help, not really... :) If anyone sees anything like that, please let me know, I'd like to improve ;-). And now end of babbling... Enjoy :-).

**Try some stuff you don't think you should**

"Fuck you, John Watson, and your insolent best friend as well! I'm fed up with your lame excuses! And don't even try to call me again –"

The last sentence is muffled by door having been shut.

John stands there, in front of the red painted door, looking at the brass knocker, and sighs deeply. He curses under his breath, turns around and goes straight on the main road. God, this starts to be quite tiresome. Tina has been his fifth girlfriend in a row who even didn't have anything more with him except for few dates and snogging on a sofa.

It seems he has to spend some time in a shower again.

Honestly, is it so difficult to find a woman who would stand his genius flatmate? John looks around, and seeing there was nobody on the street, he adjusts his jeans. He is clearly getting to the blue-balled phase and there is hardly anything he can do with that right now.

He starts to think how he can spend the evening otherwise than fucking his ex-girlfriend into mattress (shit, he really has to think about something else), when his phone rings. He stops and fishes for the phone, hoping that it's Tina who's calling to apologize and to invite him to stay over...

Greg's name appears on the display and John tightens his grip on the phone.

"Yeah?" he answers the call.

"...Should I call back later?" Greg snorts and John rolls his eyes.

"You didn't interrupt anything, trust me. It's just me, being dumped nearly five minutes ago."

"Oh, mate... I'm sorry. I was just thinking... Well, if you want to be alone rather with a divorced old-fellow, I get it, but if you fancy a pint –"

"I'm in. Where do we meet?"

John hails a cab and tells the driver the address.

When he comes in the bar, which is quite dim with smoke and rumbling with noisy music, Greg is already there, sitting near the bar and beside him is sitting a young girl, maybe in her twenties, her hands snaking around Greg's waist.

God, she could be his daughter, John thinks and with a loud voice greets Greg. The girl eyes him from feet to head, smiles salaciously and nods. John tries to smile politely but he's in such a bad mood it must have looked like a sour grimace. The DJ has a pause, as it seems, because the music dies down and there's just the muttering of the crowd. The girl picks up her handbag and goes away.

"I thought it would be just you and me, but it seems Lena has a day off and so she just popped in..."

John stares in disbelief at Greg, who orders him a pint.

"What?" Greg asks with a grin and they clink their glasses.

"Nothing," John shakes his head and looks around.

"Ah, don't tell me, I'll guess. She's too young for me. Is that what you think?" Greg leans forward to John, still smiling with a mischievous gaze. John looks at him. He's been straightforward with Greg so far and it will stay so.

"Well, yeah. I think she could be your daughter, you know," he sips his beer and waits for the scoff, which doesn't come.

"And you're right, John. But let me remind you one thing. I don't have any kids. I don't have a wife either, so I told myself, fuck it. Do what you want, your life could end at any time. I think I'm just used to not to have kids anywhere near me and I'm hardly getting one like a foster dad, so I will enjoy my life as it is." Greg's gaze changes. He is looking at John solemnly and John frowns a bit.

"And what you're saying now is, that..." John inclines his head and Greg shakes his own to deny anything which could finish the sentence.

"I'm not saying anything. I like you as a brother, John, we've been friends for what... seven years, now?" John nods. "You gave me a lot of usefull advise and I really appreciate it. Yeah. So. As your kind-of older brother, I'd like to give you one as well: is your life fucked up? So stop this bullshit. Put off your efforts for a normal relationship and do something, what you'd never do. Try some stuff you don't think you should. Everything may settle, then."

John gapes at Greg in disbelief.

"Hey, how many have you had already?" he points with his head towards Greg's glass and smirks.

"I'm serious, mate," Greg pokes him in the ribs lightly and chuckles. "No, I'm fine. It's the second one, actually." In that moment, the girl comes back and leans to Greg again, kissing him lightly behind his ear. Greg winks and John has to snicker. He sips his beer and realizes he doesn't want to drink here anymore. Seeing Greg with someone who so evidently wants to spend some time with him doesn't cheer John up and he settles his unfinished glass on the bar.

"I think I have to think that over. See you later, Greg. And thanks, I suppose," he adds hesitantly. Greg nods, bids him bye and turns towards his girl, kissing her languidly.

He goes slowly, strolling in the streets, postponing the moment when he reaches the door of 221B. When the daylight fades away and the sun sets, he sighs and finally goes straight home.

Sherlock is in the kitchen, hunched over sheets of paper with a magnifying glass in his hand and it seems he scrutinizes the blank paper – because that's it, there's nothing on those sheets. John stops and frowns a bit, then shakes his head and opens the fridge, fishing for the scotch in the back of the top shelf, drinking just from the bottle. He usually detests such manners but tonight he's just beyond caring for neat behaviour.

"It went wrong, then," Sherlock mutters and straightens up, observing John with narrowed eyes.

John swallows, wipes his mouth in his sleeve and glares at Sherlock.

_Piss off_ is just at the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it, just in the moment when Sherlock's pupils dilate, his face looking somewhat vulnerable. As if he senses John's really bad mood and waits for any insult, which has never come until maybe now.

John huffs and looks up at the ceiling, trying to compose himself before answering.

"You could say that, yes. If you could be so kind, just this once, just for me, please don't say any other deduction about me. I don't think I just could stand it right now."

There's a silence and John looks down at Sherlock, who, bemused, watches him with caution.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock asks quietly and John blinks. Did he just make the question up, or did Sherlock actually asked –

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"I can be quite social. I just choose not to be, mostly. But for you I definitely could try."

John lets out deep breath. "Right." He goes to the lounge, sits on the sofa and kicks his shoes off. He drinks from the bottle again and suddenly there's a clinking and Sherlock turns up with two tumblers.

"You could at least contaminate just your own glass, and not the whole bottle." Sherlock yanks the bottle off of John's fingers and John chuckles. He pours them a double.

"Cheers," John says grumpily and swallows half of the content. Sherlock sits on the other end of the sofa and sips his whiskey silently.

"Well?" he asks and John's eyebrows rise.

"Do you actually want to hear about how pathetic I've been, how insufficient my sexual life is, how lousy I feel, or are you going to scold me about how I behave like a teen girl? Because I could spare my breath, and you as well."

"I'm not intending to do anything like that."

John closes his eyes and sighs. Sherlock shifts a bit and leans forward.

"John... I... You know I'm not good at giving advise in relationships, but if I can help, I'd like to." He sips again and suppresses a grin. He's really not used to this stuff.

When he looks back at John, he is watching him steadily, the tumbler in his hand.

"I'm not sure what do you have in mind," John says hesitantly. "How could you possibly help?" John drinks the rest of his drink and stares ahead, his face absolutely blank. Sherlock frowns.

"Well. I don't know what I mean," he admits. "But I do care about you. And even though it mostly doesn't seem so, I don't like making your life any more miserable. Therefore..." He waves with his glass in the air uncertainly and pauses. John is watching him again.

Sherlock doesn't know what to do. So he finishes his drink in one go and really really tries to not cough because of that sharp taste in his throat, puts his tumbler on the table and shrugs.

"Just tell me, what do you want. If you want to go somewhere this night, we can... go. Um. Clubbing. Whatever."

"You'd do that for me?" John asks quietly.

"You are upset. Or you were a moment ago. Now you could probably feel depressed and I was told it was good to focus on something pleasurable then." Sherlock fidgets. "It would be only reasonable to go out and forget anything what has been displeasing so far. Hang out, I guess." He glances at John again, who looks bemused.

"You hate clubs." John states.

"I can endure few hours of frivolity and idle tattling on the bar. I could have some drinks."

"You don't like alcohol so much."

"I think I just dance a bit."

John's eyebrows are pretty high now. "You don't do such awkward movements with your body."

"How could you say it is awkward? I'm quite good at dancing, actually."

John chuckles lightly and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"I'm trying to help you. So what, should I bid you good night or are we going out?" He's a bit impatient now and John smiles broadly. It could be fun. And he's definitely curious if Sherlock was honest about the dancing.

"I'm ready to go, I think." After all, John has gone out to have a date tonight. He is decent.

Sherlock nods and stands up.

"Give me ten minutes." And he disappears in his bedroom.

John goes to the kitchen and pours a glass of water. He doesn't want to inebriate himself too much, at least before any fun could start. Ten minutes passes and Sherlock turns up in the lounge again, and John gapes at him.

He is totally different.

He has done something with his hair, comb them somewhat backwards, so his features just stand out even more. He doesn't wear a suit, just plain black jeans and a really nice looking grey shirt. He's getting into a leather jacket when he notices John's stare and pauses.

"What?" He frowns and John blinks and looks aside.

"Nothing, you just, um. You look different. Quite good, I'd say." He clears his throat. God if somebody's going to notice _him_ when Sherlock stays beside, he would be very lucky.

"Am I overdressed?" Sherlock asks uncertainly, looking down at his outfit.

"No, no. It's fine. I guess you could definitely find someone wearing these on you," John smiles. "Let's go."

They hail a cab and John gives an address of a bar, when Sherlock interrupts him and utters another address, of a club John doesn't know.

"This is much better than yours, trust me."

John shrugs, he decides he really doesn't care where they are going to.

It's a posh club – yeah, John thinks, he could have expected that – full of people around his age, dressed in nice tailored clothes, nothing you could buy in Next or C&A. John tells himself it really is not important and that he definitely shouldn't be nervous because of that. Most of them are dancing just where they are standing, trying to talk to others, drinking different kind of posh drinks with tiny umbrellas or similar kind of decorating rubbish John always hated.

Sherlock sinks in the crowd, constantly glancing back as if John follows him and he does, until they find a bar.

"Holy –" John sighs, as he sees huge wall of about thousands of bottles, glowing in their different colours.

Sherlock leans forward and orders them a drink, and thank God, no stupid parasol for John.

"So, what do you think?" Sherlock shouts in John's ear, but John hardly understands anyway. The music is so loud, beating steadily, that he can feel it drumming inside his body.

"What am I supposed to do here? I can't just go and talk to anybody!" John shouts back. Sherlock's cologne is a bit distracting as he does so and he blinks few times to get a grip.

Sherlock leans to John again, but John catches half the sentence.

"What?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, leans to John again, covers John's ear by his hands and speaks loudly and slowly: "We're not here for talking! Drink! Dance! Find someone!" John gapes at him once Sherlock backs off and he's even more baffled when Sherlock _winks_ at him.

He's quite sure he isn't the good at deducing, but now it's plain sailing, really.

Sherlock knew what to wear, knew where to go, ergo he'd been to this club before. He knew it would be tricky to speak with anyone, so there were not many possibilities left how to make contact with those people.

John sips his drink and looks around.

The club is parted by translucent sheets of glass, some of them are just plain white, others deep red or violet. The music isn't just for dancing and having only fun, it is somehow suggestive, with a beat that agitates something deep down in him. Looking at those people just confirms they're mostly flirting in an apparent way, staying close one to another...

Oh.

It seems nobody gives a fuck whether you go for a woman or a man. Or men, apparently... John takes a deep breath and turns back to Sherlock, who is drinking his drink through a straw, his gaze a bit distant, swaying slightly. John realizes that since he got in the cab with Sherlock, he didn't think of Tina for a second. This way of distraction obviously works for him. Sherlock finishes his drink, puts it aside and looks at John again.

He smirks a bit and John can't help it but grins back. Sherlock nods his head to the dance floor and John downs his drink too and they go dancing.

Instantly, when John steps on the dance floor, there are three women round him, dancing in tight circles around him and occasionally lightly touching him – once his shoulder, then his arm... John smiles broadly at them and they giggle a bit, judging from their faces. John glances around but he can't see Sherlock anywhere near him, he guesses he just turns up later, so John pursues his ladies.

The music changes a bit, it's not so frantic anymore, but a little slower, with deep bass guitar riff and a rhythm which is somehow erotic. More electric guitars now and the three women become cheeky, staying really close to John and he thinks, "Oh, what the hell, I'm going to enjoy this." He leans to the women and they smile again, touching him and caressing his body, dancing round him, but then it's pretty obvious what they want from John, as they palm his crotch and his arse and John squeaks a bit. He shakes his head and smiles apologetically, and they shrug and vanish in the crowd. John is quite out of breath, trying to calm down. He heads for another drink and sulks a little – he had a great chance to get laid tonight with three attractive women and... What? He turned them away, why?

He doesn't have a clue what he has drank before so he stares at the bottles, trying to decide, when Sherlock turns up, his shirt undone near his neck, smiling crookedly. He leans to John.

"Didn't you like them?" John tilts his head with a grin.

"Did you _watch_ me?" John shouts to Sherlock's ear and he shrugs.

He says something and it looks like "always", John blinks and rises his eyebrows, when Sherlock gives him another drink.

Suddenly Sherlock's gaze shifts a bit somewhere behind John's shoulder and his face gets cold, his smile freezes. John turns around and sees a slim, tall, sun-tanned man, with dark hair and brown eyes, approaching Sherlock, his hips swaying in seductive manner. John looks at Sherlock again and his lips are a thin line now, chin up, body tense...

The stranger passes John unseen and leans to Sherlock, kissing both his cheeks really slowly.

_Kisses him_...

Sherlock scowls at him and pushes him away slowly, but firmly. John watches the two of them with barely suppressed curiosity. They stare at each other, exchanging a sort of conversation which John has seen before only between Sherlock and Mycroft – only with their eyes. The stranger then leans forward slowly, his hands slightly rising as in surrendering, and tells something to Sherlock. Sherlock shakes his head and looks at John. The stranger turns around, observes John from top to toe, then sneering slightly, he turns back to Sherlock and tells him something once again. Sherlock closes his eyes, and John nearly drops his drink.

_It's his lover,_ he thinks. _Or ex-lover, as it seems._

Sherlock shivers, as the stranger puts his hand on his waist and leans closer to kiss Sherlock on his neck. At that moment Sherlock opens his eyes and with a startled grimace he pushes the man away, blushing and glancing at John.

John frowns and takes a step forward, standing close to Sherlock and scowling at the stranger. Obviously, the man has done something that wasn't appreciated and he is ready to defend Sherlock. The man looks at them both, laughs shortly and briefly points at John, his gaze fixed at Sherlock. He turns around and leaves.

Sherlock tries to compose himself, but at the end he just storms of the bar, John right behind him. Once they're outside, Sherlock goes to near group of smokers, talks to them shortly and one of them gives him a cigarette and lights it. Sherlock turns around, drags from the cigarette and goes back to John.

"You ok?" asks John needlessly and Sherlock exhales.

"Will be in a moment," he replies quietly and leans towards the wall. John looks around them, noticing a snogging couple, few other smokers and a drunk guy sitting in the middle of the alley. Someone goes outside through the same door they have gone through and leaves the door open, so they can easily hear the music on a level which isn't deafening.

"Do you have questions?" Sherlock drops the fag and puts his hands in his pockets, looking on the ground. John watches him and shifts a bit.

"Er... It's really none of my business -"

"It's OK, John," Sherlock interrupts him.

"Right... Um, that was your... Ex-boyfriend?"

"Yes," Sherlock replies and eyes him steadily, if somewhat hesitantly. John nods and looks at him blankly.

John is suddenly aware that everything around them blurred a bit and the only thing he can see is Sherlock, who looks a bit baffled. His shirt slightly clings over his body, as he's sweating from the heat of the club, one lock of his hair fell down to his face, but he ignores it. There's a new song from the club, starting with piano and harsh voice.

"Is that... Alright with you?" Sherlock shifts and hunches a little.

John smiles reassuringly.

"I already told you. It's all fine. You are a human being, Sherlock, you deserve to have personal life as well."

_...No one has ever sung this song to me__  
We'll be together who said we will be?..._

Sherlock blinks for few times.

"I see. I'm sorry if I ruined your night, though. Shall we go back, now?"

And then the refrain comes and John with his mouth open, as to reply, stops himself and listens –

_A friend of mine told me that it's good__  
To try some stuff you don't think you should  
And so I went and said I would_

John closes his mouth and thinks about how apt the song is.

"John?" Sherlock looks at him with a question in his eyes, but John is absorbed by this song.

_No one will ever let you down again__  
It's been so long now since we two began..._

Fuck that. He can do whatever he wants and Greg and this stupid song is obviously right. John doesn't have any wife, family or whatever, he really can do anything and doesn't have to confess to anybody. And hell, Sherlock is right here, clearly interested in men and maybe... Maybe he would...

"John?" Sherlock steps towards John, and tries to figure out what has happened to him; his eyes narrowed and mouth slightly ajar.

And as they stand there, one close to another, John looks in Sherlock's eyes and decides it's not close enough, he reaches with his hand to Sherlock's nape and leans upwards to kiss him.

Sherlock goes totally still, waits for the moment when John steps back and laughs, apologizing, maybe blaming the alcohol he has had before, but that moment doesn't come.

God, how often has he fantasized about this!

He leans forward with a growl, with caution, he just can't believe John wouldn't change his mind any second.

John is quite surprised himself.

He kissed a man once, back in Afghanistan, but he was really pissed then and when they were sober, they left it as a one-go.

God, but this was so unlike anything he has done, even with most of his ex-girlfriends... Sensing Sherlock isn't disgusted with John, he leans closer, sliding down with his left hand, experiencing the strange feeling of not curvy and definitely not soft body against his own. Sherlock was lean and firm, that was obvious, but feeling it with his fingertips was... Strange.

What was even weirder, was, that it was really nice at the same time.

Sherlock tentatively cups John's jaw and caresses it with his thumb and John sighes with surprise and pleasure. He pauses and backs off a bit, looking in Sherlock's eyes, which are huge, evidently with shock, lust, and maybe fear? John frowns a bit and Sherlock lets go of him, swallowing heavily.

He opens his mouth and closes it again, struggling with what to say, so he just looks at John and waits.

"John, I..." he swallows and clears his throat, "I really don't know what to say now," he admits.

"Well," John smiles, "It seems we both liked it. At least I liked it and, um... Maybe we could continue at home? Unless you don't want to, obviously. Or we can just go inside again and... Pretend. That this hasn't happened. I guess." John fidgets, shoving his hands in pockets of his jeans and feeling slightly embarrassed. Sherlock's face is a mixture of about dozen feelings, John can't quite remember when he saw him like that. He doesn't reply and John feels his cheeks getting warm.

Oh, right, blushing like a teenage girl, he thinks bitterly and bites his cheek.

"I don't understand, John," Sherlock finally says and slightly tilts his head, watching John closely.

John huffs a short laugh and sighs, brushing his forehead with his left palm.

"I think I just reorganized my aims-in-life chart recently. And I guess I'm not so straight, actually."

There's a silence in response and so John looks up at Sherlock, who is goggling at him. Then, he narrows his eyes, looks aside and snorts loudly. John can't help himself, he's giggling a bit and he leans toward Sherlock, touching his arm briefly.

Once they calm down, they look at each other, smiling.

"Let's go home, then," Sherlock says and John chuckles once more, takes Sherlock's hand and they go home.


End file.
